Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth)

by Donovan, Rob

  The keeper of the Pit took one look up at Jacquard before kicking at the box from underneath the boy. It shifted a few feet but did not topple over the edge.

  “No!” Jacquard cried out as he watched Delmut kick the crate again so that it now teetered on the edge of the platform. The boy stood on tiptoes trying to make the box take some of his body weight.

  “Stop!”

  Delmut looked one more time at Jacquard and smiled before kicking the box over the edge. The boy fell instantly, the rope tightening around his neck. He spluttered for air and his legs kicked furiously trying to find some sort of solid purchase.

  Jacquard’s stomach lurched as Delmut moved on to the next person. He screamed at Delmut to stop but his voice was drowned out by the calamity around him.

  “Guards, stop him,” he shouted frantically pointing towards Delmut.

  The guard nearest to the gallows obeyed instantly, but struggled to get past the people in the way. Delmut kicked the next box out from underneath the elderly lady. Despite the noise, Jacquard could hear the sound of her neck snapping. NO! NO! NO! This can’t be happening, I will not have my son murdered like this.

  He reached the bottom of the temple steps and began shoving his way through the crowds. Behind him, Jefferson shouted after him. He looked up at Iskandar who simply stared back at him guiltily. The father was now back on his feet and throwing a barrage of punches at Mondorlous who deflected them easily.

  “Iskandar, please!” he shouted as he came to a standstill, finding no way through the solid wall of bodies. He shoved into the crowd but he might as well have been pushing a boulder up a hill. Delmut kicked another box out from beneath a stoneholder. This one belonged to Mikel’s lover. Her beautiful young face twisted in agony as the noose bit into her neck.

  He looked across at his son. He could only see the prince in brief flashes as heads rushed past him. Althalos was looking over his shoulder at Delmut, helplessly watching him approach. A few of the crowd now realised what was happening and tried to board the platform but Iskandar and Mondorlous kept them at bay.

  The fourth box was kicked off and the black man fell and then was jerked back as the noose became taut. Three of the four bodies were in spasm, twitching with varying degrees of urgency. Already, the boy’s movements were becoming slower and less frequent. The elderly lady’s body was already limp, swinging slowly, almost peacefully.

  Jacquard looked to the other side of the platform. The boy’s father was no closer to getting past Mondorlous. He was a bloody heap on the floor raising his arm weakly to his son. The man’s wife and daughter were nowhere to be seen. The guard that had been closest to the gallows was still trying to manoeuvre his way through the crowd. His tongue poked into the side of his mouth as he struggled in vain. Jacquard cried out in frustration.

  “Althalos! My son!”

  He was not sure what he was achieving by yelling his son’s name but it was all he could think to do. It succeeded in getting his son’s attention, but the resigned look in his son’s face only upset him more.

  Despair turned to joy briefly when Delmut went to kick the box out from beneath Ulric. The veteran knight acrobatically threw himself off the box and clamped his legs around the tattooed face of the keeper of the Pit. Delmut’s eyes widened in alarm, as he desperately tried to free himself. Ulric squeezed with every ounce of energy he had, causing Delmut to fall to his knees.

  Jacquard willed the veteran’s legs to squeeze tighter. The heroic effort was short lived, however, as Iskandar butted him in the stomach with his staff, causing him to double up in pain and then fall. His neck snapped as gravity took its course.

  Delmut stood there gasping for breath and massaging his neck. He looked at the remaining four men standing on the boxes with renewed determination.

  “Please, three moons, no!” Jacquard yelled.

  If Delmut heard he did not show it. It can’t end this way. I can’t lose my kingdom and my son on the same day.

  Suddenly a movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to turn. Mondorlous was sprinting across the gallows towards Althalos.

  “Jaegal, no!” Mondorlous screamed.

  Jacquard looked at the strung up member of the Order. In his despair over his son, he had paid little attention to him. Jaegal had somehow managed to free his hands and now held them against his chest. They were upturned and in a claw-like position, so the backs of the fingers rested against each other. His eyes were closed and he was chanting.

  Jacquard almost lost his balance as the ground began to shake. The noise was deafening as if a thunder cloud had broken above their heads. The already chaotic crowd doubled their frenzied efforts to escape. Mondorlous was forced to stop running and brace himself against one of the support beams. The giant shouted again for Jaegal to stop as did Iskandar who now realised that Jaegal was the cause of the new disturbance.

  Jacquard saw that Delmut had already fallen to the floor and had curled himself up into a ball, covering his head. The roaring noise grew louder until it culminated in a thunderous crack. The dim light that had formed with the Gloom’s arrival was illuminated by a brilliant flash of blue and then there was only smoke.

  Jacquard spluttered as he tried to clear his lungs. Every time he inhaled his lungs burnt. The smell of sulphur overwhelmed his breath. He felt light-headed and fought to control a wave of dizziness. Around him, others choked on the poisonous air. Sounds of people hacking and wheezing filled the square.

  He was vaguely aware of a creaking noise and then an almighty crash. The smoky air stung his eyes and forced them closed. Water filled his pupils in an effort to cleanse themselves.

  Gradually the smoke dissipated. Jacquard found he could breathe more easily. He took advantage of the crowd’s pause while they recovered and the king stepped over the fallen and prone as he made his way to the gallows. Through the wisps of smoke he could make out the giant figure of Mondorlous and Iskandar next to him. The wooden structure of the gallows had fallen, collapsing on one side so it now lay tilted to one side, elevating the boy and the elderly lady on the other.

  The charred wood smouldered where the beam had been struck by whatever Jaegal had conjured up. Jacquard searched around desperately for a glimpse of his son. As the last of the smoke cleared, he saw that the four nooses on the end were all empty.

  He was forced to bend over as he coughed violently, his lungs attempting to clear the remnants of the smoke. When he looked up, he saw Iskandar watching him with a bewildered look on his face that told him everything he needed to know. The four men had disappeared.

  Chapter 17

  Rhact’s family stood on the heavily wooded hill overlooking the White City far below. The four of them had been silently watching the smoke spread since they heard the screeching. Even at this distance the high-pitched scream had caused them to wince.

  The smoke slowly expanded across the sky, poisoning the pure blue colour. Lilyon was engulfed by a black cloud. Throughout the city, pockets of flames licked the sky.

  Rhact felt weak at the knees. In his wildest dreams he did not imagine such devastation. He tried to picture the onslaught and mayhem that was going on within the white walls. The desperate cries of the suffering drifted over the plain. Each plea sounded like a personal accusation. He did this to them.

  Far below he could make out tiny figures fleeing the city like furious ants protecting their nest. He wrinkled his nostrils at the acrid smell.

  “Did I do this?” Janna asked in a weak voice. Rhact turned her away from the horrific sight.

  “Look at me,” he said to her, her eyes drifted back to the scene. “Janna, look at me.” Her eyes reluctantly found his. “You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing. I made you do this, don’t you dare think otherwise. As your father I made you do this.”

  “But if I had been there, then this wouldn’t have happened. I could have disobeyed you,” Janna said.

  “Maybe, but you have seen the destruction down there. There is somethin
g very evil in that city. It does not know reason, it does not know mercy. There is nothing to say this wouldn’t have happened anyway.”

  “Yes there is,” Jensen said. He was still looking at the city. Rhact clenched his fists, why did he always have to speak? Jensen seemed to sense his father’s anger as he rounded on him. “There is centuries upon centuries of proof to indicate the Gloom would have been satisfied with the sacrifice and left us alone for another twelve years, had Janna turned up,” he spat out the words with a ferocity Rhact had never experienced before.

  “You are not helping,” Rhact tried.

  “Fuck helping.” Kiana gasped at her son’s profanity but he did not hesitate, “I love this family as much as anyone, but we have committed a grave mistake. YOU have committed a grave mistake,” he said, whirling around and pointing to Rhact. Jensen’s face was flushed with anger; as he shouted a vein on the side of his forehead pulsated. It was another thing Rhact had never noticed about his son. “That massacre down there, Father. That is all your fault. Every death that happens from now on, that is for you to live with. Every village the Gloom razes to the ground in order to exact its revenge, is a home you have destroyed.

  “And for what? Because you decided you were above the laws of Frindoth? That this family was more important than any other, than your best friend’s? Because you had a feeling. ONE OF YOUR STUPID FUCKING FEELINGS, that you knew better and listened to a crazy witch?”

  When Jensen finished his tirade, he was shaking with anger. He stared at Rhact expecting an answer.

  “I was trying to protect this family,” Rhact said. He could hear the lack of conviction in his words even as he said them.

  “From what?” Jensen exploded. “From a one in twelve chance that Janna might be selected? You would rather we live like this? With this guilt and on the run from all those we love? In a land that could be obliterated by morning?”

  Rhact could not provide an answer. He fell to his knees. What could he say? His son was right in everything he said. He had believed the witch when she had told him she could defeat the Gloom. He was blinded by the selfish need to protect his family.

  He looked at his wife. She had her arm around Janna and looked back at him. He couldn’t stand the look of pity in her eyes. Janna had both hands raised to her face and was sobbing into them.

  “You have nothing to say, do you? Where do we go from here, Father? What’s next? Have you thought about that?” Jensen said.

  Again Rhact could only look back at his son. He tried to reason that he was just a scared boy looking for his father to step up and reassure him, but he knew that was far from the truth. Jensen was becoming a man, and had seen him for who he was for the first time. Seen all of his flaws and was exposing them, daring him to defend himself.

  Rhact felt like a fraud, he did not have a plan. His only thought was to stop Janna from going to Lilyon. After that he assumed they would find some quiet place to settle, where he could figure out what to do next.

  A booming sound emanating from Lilyon made them all jump. The sound of something large crashing to the ground. Jensen spat at his father’s feet and then stormed away. It was Kiana that went after him. Rhact felt too empty, too defeated to move.

  “Jensen, where are you going? We must stick together,” she said. Jensen spun around with such force that Kiana stopped dead in her tracks. He glared at her and then at Rhact.

  “There is no ‘together’ anymore, not for me,” he said. The words sent a shiver down Rhact’s spine. “It is clear to me that as parents you cannot teach me anymore. I am far better off on my own.”

  Jensen turned and strode away. Kiana called out after him, but made no effort to pursue. Rhact watched her turn back towards him. He registered her approaching but the last few moments seemed like a horrible dream.

  “Do something! Aren’t you going to do something? He is going to leave us, Rhact. I don’t want to save a daughter only to lose a son,” she pleaded with tears falling down her cheeks. Rhact stayed on his knees, staring off at the burning city. He felt numb, completely removed from the situation. Kiana knelt before him and slapped him. “I said, do something.”

  When he didn’t respond she went to slap him again. He caught her wrist and then pulled her towards him as she broke down. He wanted only to hold her.

  “What can I do?” he said.

  * * *

  The ground swam beneath Ucking Jhon at a frightening speed. What the fuck is happening to me? He tried to stagger on but was too dizzy. He ended up taking several quick steps sideways before slumping on his backside. The world around him continued to swim.

  He was not drunk. Correction, he was no longer drunk. He had taken the final vial the crone had given him this morning. As with the previous morning, his headache cleared instantly and all remnants of a hangover had vanished. He did not crave any ale this morning and had decided to see how long he could go without having a drink.

  He spent most of the morning just ambling along and enjoying the countryside. He noticed things he never normally noticed. How the bluewings and foxtails chattered to each other as the sun rose, for example. He was usually too busy sleeping off the night before to notice things like that.

  He started whistling a tune from his childhood. Not his usual drunken song that he slurred at the top of his voice, but a proper song. One his mother used to sing when she baked in the kitchen. Before he knew it he had a smile on his face. Something he’d forgotten how to do. He was happy for the first time in as long as he could remember.

  It was then the cramps started in his stomach. At first they were just twinges, enough to make him pause and hold his breath. However, they soon caused him to double over, his vision blurred and his mind hazy.

  The next cramp knocked him off his feet. He felt far worse than he’d ever felt following a day’s drinking. He fumbled around in his coat pocket for the empty glass vial, hoping there might be some dregs in the bottom of the bottle. Before his fingers could close around the potion, his body convulsed violently.

  He fell on his back as his muscles spasmed. His face grew taut, pulling his lips back so he had a fixed maniacal grin. White foam formed on his mouth and bubbled there, slowly falling down his cheeks. He lay spread-eagled, his arms and legs twitching for what seemed like an eternity.

  Eventually the convulsions ceased, and Ucking Jhon lay there gasping for breath. He was scared and alone. He had no doubt the witch had done this to him. He breathed deeply four more times.

  “Fucking hag,” he said, before the final convulsions began that would mark the end of his life.

  * * *

  Six days after they had encountered the witch, Mira had still not stopped bleeding. In fact, she was bleeding worse. They had moved on from the Grizzly Bear Inn yesterday. Her father had tried to inform the innkeeper, but he was nowhere to be seen. They had decided to travel back home to Comphorn.

  As each day passed, Mira had grown weaker and weaker. Her dress was now permanently soaked where blood seeped from her. At first Mira had not been concerned, despite registering the anxious looks her parents shared with each other. She believed the witch and was sure her first blood would cease on the third day.

  For that reason she had convinced them to stay away from the main roads where she could be seen by other travellers. She might have been convinced the bleeding would stop, but that didn’t mean she did not have her dignity. Meeting strangers covered in her own blood was the last thing she wanted.

  When Mira had woken this morning, her parents stood away from her and talked in urgent whispers. She could not make out what they were saying and was too weak to lift her head to angle closer. She managed to hear her father say the word “healer,” and her mother nod in agreement. Mira lay like that for several minutes, her clothes thick with dried blood. Finally, she could not stand the whispering any longer.

  “There is no need to whisper, I’m awake.”

  Her mother jumped at her voice. The two of them stopped talking at
once and came over to see her. Her mother bent over her and smiled, feeling her forehead as she did so.

  “How are you feeling, sweetie?” she said.

  “Weak,” Mira replied.

  Behind her mother she saw her father biting his bottom lip anxiously. He attempted a reassuring smile, but the worry on his face was plain to see.

  “We are going to take you to Rohadian, let a physician have a look at you,” her mother said. Rohadian was a town, slightly larger than Comphorn. It was also nearer.

  “We can’t afford a healer,” Mira said.

  “We will figure out something,” her mother said.

  Mira saw her glance down at her crotch. Her mother’s face fell for an instant before she gathered her composure. Mira felt her dress, it was saturated. She had got used to the dampness against her skin but was surprised at how much more blood there seemed to be this morning. She tried to move and as she did so her body made a slurping noise as it came unstuck from the pool of blood.

  “Don’t move, sweetie,” her mother said. Tears were now formed in her eyes.

  “I don’t think I will ever be moving again,” Mira said, offering a smile to her parents.

  They could not bring themselves to return the smile, for she was right. Mira Hurst never moved from that spot.

  * * *

  Marybeth could see the dense smoke spreading along the skyline as she stood on the east road to Lilyon. Her stomach lurched at the thought of the death toll. She once again tried to convince herself that it was a necessary step in purging Frindoth of the deception and darkness of the Gloom.

  She was too far away to hear the death cries of the citizens. This did not make the guilt any less. She had travelled along the east road for most of the morning, her wagon rattling along on the uneven road. The east road led away from the White City and arced across Easterly Rock into Brimsgrove. It was not a popular road. The dangerous terrain surrounding it was often a choice location for concealed bandits and hostile natives. In Easterly Rock in particular, large boulders bordered the road and towering cliffs gave the path an oppressive feel. King Jacquard had neglected to maintain the road because of these dangers and chose to invest in a wider path that cut deeper into Easterly Rock and through the main town of Lockpass.